


the heart of how everything changes

by playedwright



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baking, Doctor!Jack Zimmermann, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by the musical Waitress, Kid Fic, M/M, Minor Character Death, Romance, Waiter!Bitty, a gratuitous amount one might say, it happens off screen but still, lots of pie metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22092934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/playedwright/pseuds/playedwright
Summary: “Good afternoon, thank you for your patience. I’m Dr. Jack Zimmermann, newest pediatrician here, and—sorry, are we missing a child?”Bitty has to make one hell of an effort to close his mouth. Dr. Jack Zimmermann is tall and built and gorgeous; even with a stern look on his face, his eyes look kind. He’s beautiful, that’s for certain. But he’s also one-hundred-percent, undeniably, not the doctor Bitty asked to see.*Or,Bitty didn't think he'd amount to anything more than waiter and pie-maker at the local small-town diner, but everything he knows is tossed to the wind when he gains custody of a baby and starts to fall in love with his new daughter's pediatrician. (A Waitress AU, of sorts)
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 385
Collections: OMGCP AU Bang 2019





	the heart of how everything changes

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT THINGS TO NOTE: waitress the musical contains themes of adultery and abuse, and i took some liberties by not including those because i didn't want to put these characters through that, so there's no cheating in this story and literally no earl character because he's trash anyway.
> 
> huge huge huge huge HUGE thanks to [katelyn](https://peaches--n--queen.tumblr.com/) for the beautiful art she created for this story, i'm blown away at how lovely it turned out and i think it's a perfect fit for what i was aiming for with this story's tone. please go give it some love [here](https://peaches--n--queen.tumblr.com/post/190027127880/sugar-butter-flour-this-is-my-finished-piece-for)!  
>   
> without further ado, enjoy!!

There’s a quiet kind of peace that washes over Bitty when he’s in the kitchen.

Sugar coating the counter, butter rolling down the edge of the bowl, flour sticking to his fingers—the essentials laid out in front of him, the basis of all of his creations, and nothing ahead of him except for the ideas in his head. _Bake from the heart_ , his mama used to say. Her own flour-covered hands would cover his, moving his fingers like she was teaching him how to play a symphony with cracked eggs and a hand mixer.

They followed recipes, when he was little, but she never realized that baking was in his DNA; flour has stained his shirttails for just as long as he’s been walking. He doesn’t even remember the last time he used a recipe.

_Bake from the heart._

Bitty supposes that’s why it’s so easy to hide secrets in his pies.

His whole life has been spent in a kitchen. Cutting crusts into lattices and pulling ingredients from the shelf and cleaning tin after tin. Mama raised him up next to bread loaves and cinnamon rolls, and when he finally was ready she plucked him from the counter and pressed his hands into pie dough for the very first time.

He owes her everything.

He doesn’t know how he can do this without her.

Bitty’s hand slips off the edge of the tin where he was crimping the dough. There’s an ugly tear on the outside of the lattice now, and an ever-pressing reality coming down and reminding Bitty that there’s a whole world outside of the peace he finds within the magic of the kitchen.

He smooths the roughed-up edge as best as he can, and after one final butter brush his newest creation goes in the oven to cook until it’s a perfect golden-brown.

There’s nothing left to keep him here. No distractions left to hold him from facing the inevitable. With flour-coated hands, he covers his face and whispers, “What a mess I’m making.”

  
  


“ _Bitty!_ What’s our pie special today?”

In less than a breath, Bitty is pulled away from the things he wishes could be and dropped harshly into reality. There’s no time for wishing things could be different now. This time tomorrow will bring a change he’s not sure he’s ready for—but today, right now, there’s a restaurant waiting for him. Bitty wipes his hands on his apron and grabs the pie he’d finished earlier this morning off the counter as he pushes his way out front. Shitty stands at the chalkboard, poised to write the daily special out.

“Um,” Bitty mumbles. “Deep shit blackberry pecan.”

The lid to the chalk marker clatters out of Shitty’s hand. “Hang on, deep _shit?_ ”

Bitty lifts the glass cover of the pie display case and gently sets his creation on the stand. Shitty’s words take a minute to register, and when they do Bitty flushes a deep red. “Deep _dish_ ,” he corrects. He points to the pie in demonstration. “Just got the new pie tins in. Deep dish pies. Sorry, Shits.”

“All good, brah,” Shitty says, and he gets to work writing it out.

When Bitty turns, Ransom is there to press a clean apron into his hands. “You’re, like, extra covered in flour today, bro,” Ransom tells him. “Gotta keep you looking spiffy. We can throw your dirty one into the washing machine.”

“Thanks for lookin’ out,” Bitty sighs. He unties his old apron and slips the new one on. He transfers his order pad and pens to the clean one, too. It takes a moment, but when he looks back up he realizes Ransom is still staring at him. “What?”

“Are you okay?” Ransom asks. “You look out of it.”

Bitty waves his hand in the air, shaking Ransom off. “I’ll be fine. Had a bit of a rough start this morning, that’s all, but I’ll be peachy keen. Don’t you worry!”

Ransom hums in the low way he does when he doesn’t quite believe what Bitty’s saying. “Keep telling yourself that, bro,” he says with a short salute. The bell at the front jingles, and Ransom’s eyes track the customer from the door to the seat he takes at the window. He gives Bitty a tired smile. “Duty calls.”

The bell jingles again as Lardo pushes the door open, already shucking off her coat. Shitty finishes writing on the board right as she marches up to him. When she sticks her hand out, he hands her the marker without another word. Shitty turns and asks, “Bits, can you get a pot of coffee going?”

“On it. Joe should be coming in, any minute now, if you could get started on his order for me.”

“One egg white omelet, side o’ wheat toast and fruit comin’ right up,” Shitty calls.

Lardo catches Bitty by the arm as he tries to brush past her. Her grip is loose but commanding. Bitty doesn’t dare move. “Isn’t today the day?” she asks quietly.

“We aren’t talking about it,” Bitty whispers. “Not here.”

Her nails dig into his bicep when he tries to keep walking. “Everyone here supports you, Bitty, regardless of whether or not you choose to see it,” Lardo reminds him. “We’re a family. We would all help you out if you’d just let us.”

Bitty covers her hand with his own. “I love you for how much you care, but when I say drop it until we’re out of here, I mean _please_ drop it until we’re out of here. I can’t be thinkin’ about this while I’m at work or I’ll be distracted all day.”

“We can pool tips today—”

“Swear on my granddaddy’s grave, Lardo, if you finish that sentence you’re gonna regret it,” Bitty warns.

Lardo’s mouth snaps shut. She pulls her hand away gently and levels Bitty with an unimpressed look. “You’re supposed to turn to family in times of trouble, Eric Bittle, not push them away until they don’t want to help you anymore.”

Guilt grows, heavy and cold, in Bitty’s stomach. He drops his head. “You know what, you’re right. I’m outta line. I’m sorry, Lardo.”

She pauses from filling in a leaf on a blackberry bushel she’s drawing on the board. “Of course I am,” she says easily. Just like that, Bitty knows he’s forgiven. “Go make that coffee. I’m going to need a cup today.”

The day is the same as it always is here in Samwell. He spends five mornings a week this restaurant, and each day is always a carbon copy of the one before it. The regulars shuffle in for a cup of coffee and a piece of pie before shuffling back out the door. Bitty hurries back and forth between his tables and the kitchen, checking on his pies. The ins and outs of his days, an old routine he’s known the dance to for years.

The restaurant’s owner, Joe, walks in the door at exactly thirty-two minutes after opening, the same way he has every day for the past three years. He sits himself right down in Bitty’s section and waves Bitty over. His grandson is with him today, grinning like it isn’t a god-awful hour to be awake and eating.

“Tell me you got coffee strong enough to chew today,” Joe grumbles. 

Bitty fills up the mug already waiting on Joe’s table. “You know we make it just the way you like it, Joe,” Bitty promises. “Christopher Chow, it’s been an age and a day since I’ve seen you! How’ve you been?”

“Pretty good, Bitty!” Chris tells him. “Keeping busy with the job, and all that.”

Bitty _tsk_ s. “You don’t have to be modest, you know. You can call it your fancy NHL career. Lord knows the rest of us sure talk about it enough when you’re gone.”

“We sure do,” Joe agrees. He pats Chris’s shoulder. “Got a lot to be proud of with this one. Handsome boy, playing his hockey and taking care of his family and courting that sweet girl. Bitty, I think I’m ready to order. I’ll take a—”

Shitty walks by with two plates in his hands and sets them down in front of Joe and Chris. “One egg white omelet, wheat toast, and a bowl of fruit,” Shitty recites. “Chowder, fucking swawes, brah! I didn’t know you’d be here today. I’ll go get your usual started right now!”

Joe sighs as Shitty hurries away. “I see that boy is still keeping up to his usual antics.”

Bitty chuckles. “Joe, you know if it really bothered you, you’d fire him.”

“And then who would run this place, huh?” Joe asks. He takes a large bite of his wheat toast.

“Bitty,” Chris suggests. He pointedly ignores the surprised look Bitty shoots him.

Joe shakes his head vehemently. “No,” he says, in a tone that isn’t to be argued with. Whatever small hope Bitty had felt comes crashing down in an instant. “Eric Richard Bittle, you sure are something, but you will not trap yourself in my old restaurant, you hear? Those pies could take you far, far away. Get you out of this small little town. Make you a mean buck or two. You do what you can to open up your own place. You’ve got no reason to trap yourself here.”

Bitty’s heart sinks in his chest. He doesn’t tell Joe, but in a few short hours, there’s a high chance his roots in this town are just going to grow deeper.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Bitty to piece together that Lardo and Ransom planned a small ambush.

Lardo doesn’t say anything when she follows him out the door after he clocks out, and she still doesn’t say anything when she sits down on the bench next to him. Her tips were hastily shoved into her bag; Bitty can see them poking out of a pocket. He looks at her, but she still doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t take the bus,” Bitty says mildly. He knows for a fact that her bike is out behind the restaurant, in the same place she leaves it every day that she comes in.

“I do today,” she says back. She raises an eyebrow and it feels like a challenge.

Bitty sighs. “Well, if that’s the case. I must say I’m surprised you didn’t convince Ransom to join you on your little excursion into the city to babysit me.”

“Have a little faith, bro,” Ransom says. He plops down on the other side of Bitty, and Bitty can’t even find the energy to be surprised. “Had a table that just kept talking and talking. Did not seem to care that they had already sat there and talked for two hours. I would have been the first one outta all of us out here on the bench if they would have just left.”

“I bet that’s what you tell all the boys.”

Lardo takes his hand. “You didn’t really think we were going to let you do this alone, did you?”

Bitty doesn’t know what he thought. He doesn’t know how to tell them that he’s been too scared to have expectations, too scared to have hope. There’s a trial in just a short time, and he’s going into the courthouse with flour on his hands. Today will determine whether or not he becomes a father.

It does not determine whether or not he is ready to, but that’s besides the point as well.

“Bits, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Ransom presses.

“My whole life, Mama taught be that as long as I had baking, I had everything I needed. ‘Bake us a door to walk right through, baby,’ she used to say, like all we needed to get away from the life we knew was pie crust on our fingers. She gave me an escape. She gave me something to hide my secrets in, something to put all of my worries into and something that would wash off the plate when someone else was done with it. She gave me my livelihood.” Bitty takes a deep breath. His hands are shaking; he wonders if Lardo can tell. “She never told me that baking wasn’t enough. She never told me that one day she wouldn’t be here anymore to help me learn what else I’ll need.”

Ransom puts a hand on Bitty’s shoulder and squeezes. “No one has all the answers, Bitty,” he says gently.

“Mama did,” Bitty laughs without humor. “Except, for every pie we made, every door we built together, we never once walked out a single one of ‘em. Never found ourselves that better life we were always hoping for.”

Lardo squeezes his hand.

“And now those courts are gonna give me a little girl, and I’m gonna have to teach her all about this world the same way my mama did and I’m not gonna know which way is up without her here to help me. So what can I do? Bake another pie?”

“Bitty,” Lardo starts to say.

He raises his free hand. “I want her,” he says quietly. “God, I want that little girl. And I’ll try my damnedest to give her a good life, even though all she’ll have is a daddy who doesn’t amount to much more than a pie-maker and waiter in a small-town diner.”

“You’re more than that, Bits,” Ransom protests.

Bitty gives them a halfhearted smile. Down the road, he can see the bus approaching. He stands, and they stand with him.

“I guess we’re about to find out exactly what I am.”

* * *

The story goes like this:

Bitty had a cousin named Jenna. Six months ago, she celebrated her eighteenth birthday; two months ago, she gave birth to a baby girl she called Beth. Her mama, Bitty’s aunt Judy, made room for her and the baby to stay in the house for a bit until Jenna and Beth could get on their feet. As far as Bitty knows, the father was never in the picture.

Then, three weeks ago, there was an accident.

Beth was with the sitter. Bitty lost everyone else.

* * *

Bitty wins the trial. He supposed that much was to be expected; Beth has nowhere else to go.

They give him one month to get everything ready, to find them an apartment that’s better than his shoddy little studio, to move stuff out of Jenna’s old bedroom and into their new home. Beth will live with a foster parent until Bitty is ready to take her in.

He thanks the judge, stands on shaky legs, and breaks down into tears the moment the door shuts behind him.

When he’s composed himself enough to breathe, he does the first thing he can think of. He pulls his phone out and finds Beth a doctor. Hysterically, Bitty thinks this is the most important. He makes an appointment and his hands shake the whole time, and when he gets home he pulls flour off the shelf and gets to work.

* * *

He takes a pie.

Of course he takes a pie. Bitty can’t think of a single place recently that he’s gone for the first time without taking a pie. He goes with a classic, apple pie, because he knows that Dr. Johnson enjoys it the most.

It’s strange, walking into a pediatrician’s office without a child. Bitty knows he’s doing this a bit backwards. It’s just—he’d much rather make a good impression on Dr. Johnson before introducing him to Beth. He thinks it doesn’t matter much that he already knows Dr. Johnson; this will be the first impression that counts. If Bitty’s going to do this, he’s going to do it best.

And Dr. Johnson is the best.

Bitty sits down in a hard chair in the waiting room after signing in. There are women in the room who give him strange looks as he cradles a pie in his arms. They all have children of various ages hanging off of them or held close to them, and he’s got a _pastry._ His cheeks darken, and he stares resolutely at the wall.

It feels like ages before the nurse calls him back, even though it probably can’t be more than just a few minutes. She takes him to Dr. Johnson’s office and has him take a seat. It’s been rearranged, since the last time Bitty was here. A lot of the decor has been taken down. The furniture has been replaced with more modern pieces. Bitty sets the pie down on the desk and clasps his hands together.

He has no reason to be nervous, he thinks. He knew Dr. Johnson before he was even a doctor. Dr. Johnson will help him make sure he doesn’t lose his mind.

The door swings open.

“Good afternoon, thank you for your patience,” greets a voice that is _very much not_ Dr. Johnson. Bitty turns in his seat, and his jaw hits the floor. “I’m Dr. Jack Zimmermann, newest pediatrician here, and—sorry, are we missing a child?”

Bitty has to make one hell of an effort to close his mouth. Dr. Jack Zimmermann is tall and built and gorgeous; even with a stern look on his face, his eyes look kind. He’s beautiful, that’s for certain. But he’s also one-hundred-percent, undeniably, _not_ the doctor Bitty asked to see.

“Where’s Dr. Johnson?” he asks tightly.

Dr. Jack Zimmermann gives him an incredulous look. “Where’s your _child_?”

Bitty bristles. “I don’t have her yet,” he retorts. He crosses his arms; it feels petulant, after he does it, but Bitty isn’t one to back down. “I requested Dr. Johnson, he’s the best pediatrician around Samwell, he knows me. Is he just running late? Because I’ll wait.”

“Dr. Johnson accepted a job in California and moved just two days ago,” Dr. Jack Zimmermann says. He’s got a quiet and commanding voice. Bitty can’t place his accent. Bitty realizes, perhaps too late, that the man’s accent is _not_ what he should be focusing on right now. “I’ve taken over his patients.”

Dr. Zimmermann’s words take a moment to sink in. When they do, panic claws at Bitty’s throat. “No, but,” he starts to say. For a horrifying moment, he thinks he might actually cry. “He knew what was going on, he already knew—he was supposed to be our _doctor_.”

“I can assure you that I am up for the task,” Dr. Zimmermann says dryly.

Bitty stands. “I’m sorry, but I’m just too far out of my comfort zone here. No disrespect, Dr. Zimmermann, but I don’t know you. I knew John. He came to my restaurant at least once a week and gossipped with me over a cup of hot tea. I have never even seen you around town.”

“I’m new here,” Dr. Zimmermann informs him. The words come out of him in a rush; after they’re said, he looks surprised that they slipped out. “My ex just started residency, first year. At the same hospital I worked for, previous to this. I needed… a change.”

Bitty absolutely _does not_ let his heart grow hopeful at the mention of Dr. Zimmermann’s relationship status. That would be absurd, and he is here for reasons that are far more important. “Well, all of that is fine and romantic when you talk about moving to a small town for a new life, but I’m still not sure—”

“What is that?” Dr. Zimmermann interrupts. His eyes have fallen on the pie on his desk. “Is that a—is that _pie_?”

Bitty turns slightly. “Yes,” he admits. “I brought it for Dr. Johnson. He likes my pies. I thought, I thought that I’d bring one and make a good impression. You can have it, I suppose, since he’s no longer here. Apple pie. A classic.”

Dr. Zimmermann doesn’t look away from the pie. Bitty isn’t sure what to make of the expression on his face.

“Well, I suppose I best be on my way,” Bitty says, after Dr. Zimmermann takes far too long to respond. He feels itchy and strange, like he’s going to burst out of his skin the moment he’s alone. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Zimmermann, and I’m sure you’re a very good doctor. I hope you can forgive me for acting rude earlier.”

“This has been a very odd consult, considering that I’m a pediatrician and you don’t have a child here,” Dr. Zimmermann says, before Bitty can brush past him. “I’d assume there was a point to your odd visit, unless you just go places to tempt people with baked goods. You can take that with you, by the way, when you go. I’m off sugar.”

Bitty startles so hard, he nearly knocks a picture off of Dr. Zimmermann’s desk. “There _was_ a point,” he says sharply. He honestly can’t believe the audacity of this doctor. “I have a—there’s a baby, and she’s gonna be mine, and I just want to make sure she has a good pediatrician. She’s already going to have a hard life. She needs a good doctor.”

Dr. Zimmermann looks up at him in surprise. He’s got pretty blue eyes, not that Bitty _cares_ , and they track Bitty’s face.

“And it’s rude,” Bitty adds, “to reject a baked good someone gives you. It’s rude.”

“I am a good doctor,” Dr. Zimmermann tells him. There’s a determined look on his face now; it’s the most emotion Bitty has seen in the whole time Dr. Zimmermann has been in the room with him. “I’m a great doctor, in fact. And I’d be a great doctor to your daughter, if you agree to let me treat her. I’m a very, very good doctor. You can trust me on that.”

Bitty feels like he’s got whiplash. This entire conversation has been jerking him from side to side. He’s trying dutifully to ignore the fact that Dr. Zimmermann is probably the most attractive man he’s ever met in his entire life, but it’s exceedingly difficult with the way that Dr. Zimmermann steps closer to him and looks down at him like he’s got a point to prove.

“And I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Dr. Zimmermann continues. “I am, really. Off sugar. I try to eat as healthy as I can, stay fit. Lots of greens, fruits, proteins.”

It takes every fiber in his body to stop himself from saying, _Oh, don’t worry, I can tell_.

“You could benefit from eating more protein,” Dr. Zimmermann adds, and then he looks Bitty up and down.

Bitty flushes.

“You could benefit by trying a bit of that pie, Dr. Zimmermann,” Bitty splutters. He grabs his bag and starts to make his way towards the door. He hesitates, just before opening it. “I’m sure just one bite won’t affect your physique any.”

He walks out the door and the sound of Dr. Zimmermann’s startled laugh follows him down the hall.

* * *

Bitty feels lighter, almost. A pediatrician is the least of his concerns in the coming weeks, but he feels better knowing he’s got Beth a good one.

He tries not to dwell on the fact that Jack’s laugh echoes in his ears for the next week.

* * *

They live in a small town. Bitty has known this for as long as he’s lived here.

He was born in Madison, where the rest of his family resides, so he knows small towns. He was almost too little to remember the move to Samwell after his daddy died. He remembers his mama and her sad looks all the time. He remembers being raised up by small-town gossip; hell, half of it was about him and his mama, the widow and her toddler son who spent their days making pies and trying to make a living off of it. He’s used to the gossip.

Bitty doesn’t know why he’s surprised, then, when he comes into work a few days after the trial and everyone knows.

“So when does the stork drop by?” Joe asks, right in the middle of Bitty topping off his coffee cup. He doesn’t seem to mind when Bitty startles and a splash of coffee hits the table.

“Pardon me?” Bitty asks, even though he knows it’s fruitless to act like he doesn’t know what Joe’s talking about.

“Your baby,” Joe clarifies—loudly. People from other tables look over. It would do them some good to act like they weren’t eavesdropping, Bitty thinks. He longs for a day he doesn’t live in a place that runs on town gossip. “When’s the due date?”

Bitty turns red. “There ain’t a due date, Beth has already been born,” Bitty says, quick before Joe can say anything else. “I’m just getting custody of her.”

Joe hesitates from where he was lifting his coffee to his mouth. “Well, that sure sounds like a complicated situation you got yourself into, Eric,” Joe says. “Didn’t I just tell you not to let anything tie you down to this town?”

“I don’t really have a choice here, Joe,” Bitty sighs. “I have a job here. People I need to look out for. Something kind of stable. Bethy is gonna need any semblance of stability she can get.”

“Money shouldn’t be the reason you stay in a place,” Joe tells him, like it’s easy. Like there’s even a chance Bitty could plausibly move himself and his newly acquired month-old baby out of this small town to anywhere else. “Family. Living out your dream. Growin’ up. That’s a reason to stay somewhere.”

“I’ve got family here,” Bitty says sharply. “And Beth needs a place to grow up. The rest of it… what does it really matter?”

“You telling me that your dreams don’t matter?”

Bitty swallows thickly. “Not anymore, they don’t. There’s a kid I have to keep in mind”

Joe’s expression softens. There’s something undeniably sad about it; like Joe just realized that Bitty’s life is forever changed, and Bitty has no clue how to handle it. “You have so much talent, you could open your own one of these,” Joe says fiercely. “I’ve tried pies from all over the east coast and none of them compete with you. You could make a living off of it.”

“What do you think I’m doing here, Joe?” Bitty laughs. He takes a step back, ready to head to his next table to check on them. “Not just making pies here for shits and giggles.”

Bitty knows it won’t be the end of the conversation, but Joe doesn’t bring it up again for the remainder of the time he eats. He drops a hand on Bitty’s shoulder and squeezes it on his way out, and Bitty goes about the rest of his day dodging knowing and curious eyes.

He makes it to closing time without another incident. The end of this day is so near that Bitty can almost taste it. He moves hastily through his sidework, hoping he can finish up quickly and catch the next bus home.

Of course, his days rarely go how he wants them to nowadays.

“I have a date,” Ransom announces. He sits down heavily on a chair Bitty just finished wiping down. Bitty glares at him, but Ransom doesn’t even notice. “I have a date with a guy that I met on a stupid dating app that Lardo made me sign up for, and his name is Adam and he likes musicals and sports and he’s _tall_ , and I’m fucking terrified, man.”

“Is he cute?” Bitty asks as he lifts the salt and pepper shakers to wipe the table.

“Hot as fuck, but that’s not the _point_ , Eric!” Ransom snaps. “I’ve never met this dude! I haven’t gone on a date in, like, a billion years because I’m so caught up at med school, and now I have a date with a hot dude who likes musicals and sports and is 6 '4 and I have never, ever met him.”

Bitty sighs. “Rans, you know I love you dearly, but your problem does not sound like a problem to me.”

Ransom moans dramatically and lays down on the table.

“What’s his problem?” Lardo asks. She hits his arm with a wet rag and rolls her eyes when Ransom yelps and glares at her.

“He has a date with a hot boy and he thinks the world is ending because of it,” Bitty summarizes.

“That is _not_ my problem, Bitty!” Ransom shouts. “It’s more complicated than that! What if he’s a weirdo? What if he talks too fast, or, or, or too loud? What if he likes hot dogs? Do you know how gross hot dogs are?!”

Bitty takes a seat across from Ransom. He’s getting the impression that they’re going to be here for a while. “I have such a hard time feeling sympathy for you in this situation,” he sighs.

Ransom huffs. “Maybe you’d have more compassion if you weren’t hung up on that cute doctor you won’t shut up about.”

“I am _not_ —” Bitty splutters indignantly.

“That’s not even the scariest part,” Ransom continues. He wrings his hands together. “Like, what if he takes one good look at me and decides he doesn’t like me? Like, I could put myself out there, like _really_ put myself out there, and he could run in the other direction and there’s nothing I could do about that, you know?”

Lardo pulls up a chair from another table. “You’re overthinking,” she says, and it sounds like a simple fix coming from her mouth. She holds up a hand when he starts to protest. “Ransy, I know that’s what you do. But save the overthinking for biochemistry, okay? Let this thing be simple. Even if it’s just to go out and have one fun night.”

“When you put it like that, it sounds easy,” Ransom mutters. He won’t meet their eyes.

Bitty starts to get the impression that there’s more to this than Ransom is letting on. “Rans, what are you really worried about?”

“I like facts and figures,” he says, in a voice that sounds too small to be his own. “Data. Spreadsheets. Real, tangible things that I can see and make sense out of. I can’t operate when I don’t know what I’m getting into. And what if I go out with this guy, and he’s amazing, and I end up really liking him? What do I do with that?”

“Then you ask him if he wants to go out again,” Lardo prompts him gently.

Ransom lets out a small, breathless laugh. “And, what, I open myself up to the possibility of it ending badly? I let him hold me for a few dates and I let myself think that maybe I could fall in love with guy, and I break myself open? I can’t come back from that.”

“No one is asking you to marry the guy,” Bitty reminds him. He puts a hand on Ransom’s forearm. “It could just be one date. Or it could be destiny, who knows. But destiny could mean you fall in love with the guy or it could mean you find your new best friend.”

Lardo scoffs. “For the record, I resent that statement. You better not replace me.”

Bitty pats her knee.

“We could just be friends,” Ransom repeats. A small grin crosses his face. In Bitty’s opinion, it’s only kind of manic. “Yeah, that’s a great point! We could just be friends!”

“Don’t go into the date ready to friendzone him—” Bitty protests, but Ransom stands up so fast the chair topples to the ground behind him. He presses a noisy kiss to both Bitty’s and Lardo’s foreheads, ignoring their loud complaints.

“You guys are the best,” he says happily. “Now what are we sitting around for, don’t we have a restaurant to close? Let's go home, god almighty.”

Try as he might, Bitty can’t help but smile.

Lardo turns to him as Ransom hurries into the back, most likely to grab a rag and finish wiping down tables. “What about you?” she asks. “What’s your crisis?”

Bitty raises an eyebrow. “Who says I have a crisis?”

“Uh, the terrified look on your face says you have a crisis, bro.”

“I don’t,” Bitty starts to say, but the argument sounds halfhearted even to his ears. “Okay, I don’t know if you noticed, but I just acquired a baby. My whole life is a crisis. I don’t have an apartment that isn’t my teeny studio. I haven’t even bought her toys.”

“Toys can be the last thing on your priority list, Bitty,” Lardo reminds him. “Doesn’t she have some back in Madison anyway?”

Bitty frowns. “Old toys,” he mutters. “She’ll be a whole month older by the time she comes home to me. She needs new toys. Toys that won’t make her think of her mama and make her cry when she can’t find her.”

Lardo leans back in her seat. There’s a surprised look on her face that Bitty has never seen before. “Bitty,” she breathes.

“I don’t know how in the world I’m gonna do this, Lardo,” Bitty admits. He’s overwhelmed by it suddenly, the feeling of inadequacy that’s been plaguing him ever since that judge decided Beth was going to him. Since before then, if he’s being honest. Since he got the slightest notion that she might be given to him. “I don’t think I’m even ready to be a father.”

“Are you saying you’d rather she go to another family?” Lardo asks.

The thought of it makes Bitty sick to his stomach. “Of course not,” he huffs. “She’s mine. She’s family, and she needs me. Lord knows that baby didn’t ask to lose her whole family, I’m not gonna turn her away just ‘cause I don’t know if I can handle having a crib near my bed.”

Lardo looks at him, speculating. He can almost see the wheels turning in her head. What’s she’s thinking of, he couldn’t say—she has a habit of surprising him. Whatever conclusion she comes to isn’t readable in her expression either.

“You’re going to be a great father,” she tells him simply.

“I sure hope so,” he mumbles. “We’re gonna need it.”

* * *

As if the day can’t get any stranger, he bumps into Dr. Zimmermann at the bus stop.

“Oh,” says a voice above Bitty. He doesn’t know Dr. Zimmermann well enough to recognize him by voice, but Bitty’s heart still jumps around in his rib cage hopefully when he hears the voice. “Hello there.”

Bitty looks up. It is Dr. Zimmermann, and he looks unfairly nice in a fitted t-shirt and running shorts. Bitty’s mouth goes a little dry and he politely looks away. “Dr. Zimmermann,” he greets tightly. “You take the bus?”

Dr. Zimmermann lets out a startled kind of laugh. “No, I just got myself a little turned around during my run,” he explains. He sits down tentatively on the other side of the bench. Bitty glances at him from the corner of his eye. Dr. Zimmermann’s appearance makes more sense now, from the baseball cap on top of his head all the way down to the most horrendously bright yellow running shoes Bitty has ever seen. “Still trying to learn my way around this place.”

“It’s a small town,” Bitty says with a laugh. “Kind of hard to get lost in a town with three roads.”

“It’s a bit more than that,” Dr. Zimmermann protests. There’s a teasing grin on his face. Bitty could fall in love with a grin like that, if he isn’t careful.

Bitty hums instead of saying anything. His gaze shifts back to the road, looking for the bus. His entire life is upturned right now, and the guy he’s been holding a half-lit candle for is sitting next to him on a park bench now. He can’t do anything about it, can’t flirt, can’t even wonder if he has a reason to flirt.

So he looks for the bus.

“I’m surprised you don’t have a pie today,” Dr. Zimmermann says conversationally. Bitty takes a deep breath. “No more doctors to bribe with baked goods?”

Bitty almost smiles. “Afraid that’s reserved just for you, Dr. Zimmermann.”

“Jack,” he says. “You can call me Jack, you know. I-I am a doctor, but I’m also Jack. And I think we got off on the wrong foot, so I want to reintroduce myself. So. You can call me Jack.”

“Oh,” Bitty startles.

He’s not sure what else to say. 

“You know, it’s funny,” Dr. Zimmermann— _Jack_ —says. “You remind me of someone I knew once. It was back when I was in med school so she’d be, god, probably in her 40s by now.”

Bitty makes a face. “Um, thanks.”

To his surprise, Jack turns a delightful shade of pink. His mouth twists in an embarrassed kind of way. Bitty almost thinks it’s cute. “No, _no_ , I didn’t mean it like—she was a waitress at this diner I went to quite a lot, because it was warm and the coffee was cheap and there was free wifi. She snuck me treats sometimes, on the days I was too focused on studying to come up and breathe. She was sweet and kind. She reminds me of you.”

It’s an unexpectedly nice compliment. This boy is giving Bitty whiplash, jumping back and forth between criticizing him and complimenting him in the next breath. “Oh,” he says after a beat. “That’s nice of you to say.”

“She’d bake pies fresh every day for the restaurant,” Jack continues. He’s on a tangent now, face lit up with excitement over the memory. Bitty isn’t even sure that Jack heard him speak. “Like you, I suppose, except for yours are probably a hundred times better.”

Warmth spreads through Bitty’s gut. He forgets, for a moment, that he has been trying not to engage too much with Jack Zimmermann. “You tried my pie?”

Jack finally looks at him. “I only planned on taking a taste,” he admits. There’s still pink in his cheeks. “But that was all it took, to realize it was something special, you know? You have an amazing talent, I’m sure you hear it often, but… I’ve never had a sweet that tasted that good before. It only took one bite for me to realize how special it was.”

Bitty tries to hide his smile. “Mama used to tell me that a good pie can tell your whole story in just one bite.”

“Yeah! That’s exactly what I mean!” Jack exclaims. His hand falls on Bitty’s bicep, and from that one simple touch alone Bitty’s blood is on fire. He wonders if Jack even realizes he’s done it. “I don’t even have a sweet tooth and I ate half of that pie in one sitting. The only reason I stopped was because my nurse walked in as I was mid-bite.”

Bitty can’t help but laugh. It makes for a delightful image, picturing Jack sitting alone in his office, shoveling bites of pie into his mouth. He can almost see how sheepish Jack must have looked. “Bet they all teased you near an inch of your life for that.”

Jack sinks back into the bench. “It was worth it,” he says decisively. “Bitty, it was like I was transported back into my childhood. I felt like I was seven years old again, sitting on the counter as Maman pulled a fresh pie out of the oven and served me a slice during the holidays. I can’t help but wonder how your hands must have felt creating such a masterful thing…”

For a moment, Bitty feels like a teenager again: sitting on a bench with the cutest boy at school and blushing as he’s complimented. There isn’t time for thoughts of Beth or his job or his friends or anything else that has been wearing him down recently; here, he could just be an ordinary guy, flirting with another guy he met at the bus stop. Nothing else matters except for this bench, right here and now. “Just one bite caused all that wondering?” Bitty asks breathlessly.

And for one moment longer, Bitty forgets that he’s talking to the man who is going to be Beth’s doctor. When that realization crashes back down onto him, he scoots away from Jack and drops his gaze to the ground.

Jack must come to the same realization. His hands fall back into his lap. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” he murmurs. “I’m afraid I’m not the most sociable of people.”

Bitty tries to manage a grin instead of a grimace. “What, a doctor with a tendency to be awkward? Now we wouldn’t want a cliche here.”

Jack laughs. It’s still one of the best things Bitty has ever heard.

He opens his mouth to say something else—what he wants to say, he’s not sure—but the words get caught in his throat when he notices the bus coming down the road. Jack turns; Bitty isn’t sure if he’s imagining the way Jack’s shoulders drop.

“It’s been nice talking to you,” Bitty hears himself say. Jack turns back to him, eyes wide in surprise. “Bit of a surprise, I’ve got to be honest. But it was nice. Talking to you.”

Jack gives him a small smile. “It was unexpected, wasn’t it?”

Bitty isn’t sure how to respond to that. He stands quickly, as the bus pulls to the side of the street, and tucks his jacket back over his arm. “I’ll see you around, Dr. Zimmermann.”

“Jack,” he corrects.

Bitty gives him one last smile as the bus doors open. “Jack,” he agrees.

He allows himself to glance back, just once, at the park bench where Jack still sits, as the bus starts to pull away.

* * *

  
  


“Guys, _guys_ , I want you to meet Holster!” Ransom shouts. He’s dragging a giant blonde man behind him by the wrist. The blonde man—Holster—waves slightly with his free hand. “Holtzy, this is everybody. Everybody, this is Holster.”

Bitty blinks. “I thought you went on a date with a guy named Adam?” he asks.

“He did,” Holster supplies helpfully.

“Adam Birkholtz,” Ransom adds. “Birtholtz, Holtz, Holster, it was a natural nickname.”

Lardo laughs sharply from her spot on the counter. “You gave this guy a nickname? The date must have gone really well, then.”

“Oh, we’re best friends now,” Ransom says, like it explains anything. He’s still holding onto Holster’s wrist. The both of them look like they’re practically vibrating out of their skin. “We’re gonna go grab a table, but I’ll chat with you both later. Bye!”

“I’m confused. Are they dating or are they best friends?” Bitty asks as Ransom and Holster sit down across from each other at a booth by the window. Shitty goes over to greet them; Holster waves his arms as he orders, loud and boisterous, and Ransom grins at him the whole time. Bitty decides he kind of likes Holster.

Lardo doesn’t look up from the cup of coffee she’s pouring. “Intricate rituals,” she mutters.

Bitty chuckles. “Guess we don’t have any room to judge, right? We’ve all been single longer as long as we’ve worked at this place. Good for him for finding someone to be happy with. Even if they’re just… friends? Do you think they’re just friends?”

“Speak for yourself on the single front, buddy,” Lardo says. She puts the mug of coffee on her tray and breezes past him to go serve her table.

“Excuse me? Larissa Duan, what’s that supposed to mean?” Bitty demands. “Are you seein’ someone?”

Shitty barks out a short laugh as he walks by. Bitty whips around to turn at look at him as Shitty pushes his way through the door into the kitchen. “And just what was that snarky little laugh for, Mister Knight?” Bitty snaps.

“If you think Lardo is going to tell you anything about her love life, brah, then you don’t know her at all,” Shitty calls. Bitty crosses his arms, petulant.

“We’re good friends,” he defends. “Friends tell each other stuff like this.”

Lardo brushes past him again, calling out on her way to the kitchen, “Oh, is that why you’ve dropped so many details about the pediatrician you’re head over heels for?”

“I am _not_ head over heels for anyone, pediatrician or otherwise,” Bitty says indignantly.

Both of them walk out of the kitchen together, neither one looking like they believe Bitty at all. Bitty watches as Shitty skips across the floor, carrying an ice cream sundae in his hands, taking it to Ransom and Holster and brandishing it dramatically. Holster claps, clearly thrilled by the whole prospect.

“My _point_ was,” Bitty reiterates, turning on his heel again. Lardo leans against him. “Can we ask him about it? Is it weird to ask?”

She shrugs. “Probably just as weird to sit here speculating about it without letting him know.”

Bitty huffs. “Well, you can ask him. You’re the one that’s potentially being replaced as a best friend here. In fact, why aren’t you more upset by this whole thing?”

“Because I don’t pretend that trivial things are bothering me when there’s really something else going on that I don’t want to talk to my friends about,” Lardo says. She pats Bitty’s arm sympathetically. “Also, we’re all best friends here, bud. Family and all that jazz. So if you want to be indignant that he suddenly has a new best friend, you can be indignant.”

“He went on a _date_ with this man and now no one can tell if they’re dating or just friends!” Bitty insists. “That’s strange!”

Lardo laughs. “Let it go, Bits.”

Bitty glares at her as she walks away. “Don’t think this conversation about who you’re dating is over either, Lardo, we will have that conversation!”

“Someone just sat in your section,” she calls back in response. Bitty huffs and pulls out his order pad. He loves his friends, he does dearly, but their antics will never cease to amaze him. He doesn’t know how he’d get by without them, though.

“Welcome to Joe’s, what can I get started for you today?” Bitty says out of habit, as he walks up to his newly seated table. It’s one person, mostly hidden behind the comically large menus that Bitty keeps begging Joe to get rid of.

The guy lowers his menu slowly. “Bitty?” he asks incredulously.

Bitty looks up, shocked. Jack is looking back at him with a similar look of surprise. “Dr.—Jack! What are you doing here?”

Jack is wearing scrubs. He probably came straight from the hospital. Bitty _refuses_ to be charmed by it, he doesn’t have the time. “I needed to eat,” Jack says. “I had a long day at the office, I didn’t have time to take a lunch break. I thought it might do me some good to have a real meal instead of the PB&J I packed for lunch.”

Bitty _will not be charmed_. “PB&J?” he asks. The corner of his mouth is threatening to grin, despite his best efforts.

Jack hesitates. “Yes.”

“Are you five?” Bitty chirps. There’s no stopping the smile now. Jack gives him a breathy huff for his efforts and puts the menu down gently.

“I would hope not, a five year old doctor would be very dangerous to the medical community,” Jack says seriously. There’s a laugh, now, trying desperately to break out. Bitty bites his lip to keep it in.

“Of course,” he agrees. “So. A real meal. What can I get for you?”

Jack leans forward. “What would you recommend?”

“Oh, I’d recommend anything off the menu. I helped fix it, you know, because it was a travesty before I came along. And I don’t serve anything I wouldn’t eat,” Bitty says seriously. It’s worth it for the way Jack’s eyes light up with his grin.

“Well, that’s very impressive of you, Bitty.”

Bitty taps his pen against his notepad. “I am an impressive person,” he allows. “How would you feel about letting me order for you?”

Jack tilts his head to the side, eyes pondering. It shouldn’t be so endearing. Bitty almost wants to hide his face so Jack can’t see the smile on his face. “Well, you _are_ an impressive person,” Jack says finally. “I suppose I have no choice but to trust you.”

There’s something in Jack’s eyes, and something about the way he says that, that makes heat pool in Bitty’s stomach. He leans forward, intoxicated by Jack’s presence, before he remembers where they are. He snaps his notebook shut and shoves it into his apron. “Great,” Bitty says quickly. “I’ll get it started for you. Can I get you anything to drink? Coffee, soda?”

“Water?” Jack asks, looking so disarmingly charming that Bitty feels taken aback for a moment.

“Right,” he manages to say, fighting valiantly to feel like a functioning human who isn’t affected by pretty blue eyes. He forces a smile that he hopes comes off as teasing. “Still trying to delude others into thinking you’re off sugar?”

Jack huffs out a laugh, then looks surprised by it. “I _am_ off sugar,” he insists. His gaze drifts to one of the pies in a display case over on the counter. His shoulders droop as he amends, “Mostly. But I don’t like the taste of soda and I’ve already had my coffee for the day. Water is fine.”

“You are allowed to enjoy things more than once in a day, you know,” Bitty says. “Or have you not heard of this new invention called ‘fun’?”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you have other tables to go harass?” he asks, but there’s no bite in his voice. His expression is open and teasing and beautiful and Bitty is so, _so_ fucked. “Or am I the only customer that can put up with you?”

“Take that back,” Bitty says primly. “Or no pie for you, Dr. Zimmermann.”

Jack’s hands go up in surrender.

Bitty turns quickly on his heel before Jack can see him grin.

Lardo grabs him by the arm when he finally makes it back to the kitchen to pass off the order. “Who is that?” she hisses.

“Um, _ouch._ ”

“Toughen up. Who is that?”

Bitty glances behind himself guiltily. “It’s no one.”

“Bull _shit_ , it’s no one. You just made googly eyes at him for fifteen minutes while you were taking his order. You don’t take that long to take anyone’s order. Not even Joe’s, and he’s your most regular customer.”

Bitty tuts and pulls his arm out of her grasp. “Joe is a regular, that’s why I don’t _have_ to take his order. The gentleman at that table happens to be new to these parts. Lord knows that boy could use some hospitality.”

Lardo sighs, like Bitty is personally ruining her life. “He’s wearing scrubs, _Eric_. Are you telling me there’s _two_ doctors in this town that you’re head over heels for?”

Bitty hands the cook the ticket and turns sharply back to Lardo. “Once again, I’m _not_ head over heels for anybody, stop that,” he says briskly. “Besides, wasn’t it you who was all tightlipped not even half an hour ago about your apparent love life? Why do I have to be the one to talk first?”

Lardo just raises an eyebrow at him.

Exasperated, Bitty tries, “Did you talk to Ransom and ask him what the deal between him and Holster is?”

Lardo grabs the plates that the cook pushes through the window and places them on her tray as she talks. “Bits, all I’m doing here is worrying about you. You just had a ton of big changes in your life. You lost three family members in one night, you’ve recently acquired a child who is going to depend on you for everything, you’ve had to change around your whole life plan to accommodate this baby. And now to top it all off, there’s a guy you’re infatuated with. I’m just worried you’re looking for something you’re not going to get here.”

“Good lord, I’m not asking him to marry me,” Bitty snaps. He loads the extra plates that don’t fit onto a tray of his own. “And nothing is happening. He’s pretty, and he’s a little bit flirty, and yes, maybe I’m charmed by him despite my best efforts. But I’m not going anywhere with it. Lord knows now isn’t the time.”

Lardo lifts the tray up and balances it with her shoulder. “I want you to be happy,” she promises him. “I do. I just don’t want you to hurt yourself rushing into something because you _think_ it’ll make you happy.”

Bitty gives her a grateful smile. “I can look out for myself.”

“Yeah, we know. You’ve been doing it ever since you moved out here.”

Lardo’s table choruses as they bring the food by, and she gives them a dry smile and teases Lucille about how she didn’t order a piece of pie today, and Bitty smiles to himself. He feels trapped in this place sometimes, trapped in a place he didn’t choose and stuck, even more now, with a baby on his hip—but it’s the people that make it easier.

When they’re done, Bitty drops off Jack’s chicken tenders and fries and even smuggles a piece of pie onto the tray too, sliding it last onto Jack’s table. Jack looks at it in surprise. “Didn’t we just talk about how you’re only _mostly_ off sugar? Don’t tell me you’re gonna turn this away,” Bitty teases as he tops off Jack’s water.

“Well, now that you’re here tempting me,” Jack says back with a laugh. There’s a short second before Jack’s face turns beet red. “I meant—with the pie. Tempting me with the _pie_.”

Bitty rests the tray against his hip. “Well, of course you did, Dr. Zimmermann.”

Bitty won’t entertain the notion that Jack could have meant anything else.

“Special today is cheddar cheese apple pie,” Bitty adds, as an afterthought. He knows he’s lingering by Jack’s table but he can’t quite find it within himself to walk away. “Little bit of a twist on that regular old apple.”

Jack’s brow furrows. “I wouldn’t call your apple pie regular,” he states, like it’s a matter of fact. He pulls the plate of pie closer towards him, completely disregarding his dinner. Bitty knows he should feel embarrassed as he watches Jack take a tentative bite of the pie. Jack’s eyes flutter closed and he makes a small noise of appreciation. Bitty’s chest swells with pride.

“I could come here every day,” Jack says solemnly.

Bitty laughs. “And what good would that do you? You came here for a real meal and you’re diving straight into the pie.”

Jack looks up at him guiltily.

“I won’t tell anyone you’ve got a secret sweet tooth,” Bitty promises.

Jack chuckles. “Are you busy?” he asks suddenly. “Would you like to join me for a bit?”

The question seems so out of the blue that Bitty startles at it. Jack looks at him, expectant and hopeful. It isn’t too busy; Bitty’s only other table is getting ready to leave. The dinner rush has come and gone, and in an hour they’ll be closing up anyway. “I am technically working,” he hedges. He can think of at least seven other reasons he shouldn’t sit down and join Jack.

Jack deflates a little bit. “That’s understandable,” he says, sounding none too happy about it.

Bitty is a weak, weak man.

“Hey, Shits?” he calls out. Shitty turns from where he’s still lingering by Ransom and Holster’s table. “You mind if I take a short break to catch up with a friend?”

Shitty raises an eyebrow and looks between Bitty and Jack, apprehensive. Despite the fact that Shitty left law school before he could get his degree, Bitty almost feels like he’s on trial. Then, Shitty grins wolfishly and gestures wildly with his hands towards their table. “Take as long as you need, brah. Place is dying anyway.”

Jack is stifling a laugh when Bitty sits down across from him. “Tell me that guy isn’t in charge here.”

“I can’t lie to you, Jack,” Bitty says dryly.

“Shits?” Jack asks.

Bitty can’t help but laugh himself. “That’s the only name I’ve ever known him by. Says it’s the only one he’ll respond to. And he’s got Joe’s seal of approval so we all go with it, even if it’s a little unorthodox.”

“I like it,” Jack murmurs. He smiles a bit and glances at Shitty out of the corner of his eye. “He seems like a guy who isn’t letting expectations hold him back.”

Across the way, Shitty lets out a string of excited swear words then climbs into the booth next to Holster, who sets to work braiding his hair.

“He certainly doesn’t,” Bitty agrees.

Jack eats another forkful of pie. It’s nearly gone, Bitty notes giddily. Then Jack asks, “So how was your day?” like it’s a perfectly ordinary thing to ask someone you’ve only met a handful of times.

Bitty blinks slowly. “Alright,” he allows. “I’ve been here since noon. Had a bit of a lunch rush but the dinner crowd was pretty thin tonight. No customers were overtly rude to me.”

“Do you get that a lot?” Jack prods curiously. “This is a small town, you’d think everyone would know everyone.”

Bitty snorts. “Oh, they do. But that don’t stop Miss Jane from coming in here all high and mighty demanding free food for a hair in her pie despite the fact the hair is very obviously grey and curly.”

Jack’s fork scratches against his plate. “You’re joking.”

“Cross my heart.”

Jack takes a second to respond, chewing thoughtfully. He takes his last bite of pie and wipes his mouth too before he replies. “Well, I’m glad to be one of the nicer customers for you today. At least—I mean, I hope I am. If I’m overstepping—”

Bitty reaches out and covers Jack’s hand with his own. A thrill runs down his spine when their hands meet. “Jack, honey,” Bitty laughs. He hopes it doesn’t sound as breathless as he feels. “It’s okay. You aren’t overstepping. And if you keep this up, you’ll be well on your way to becoming my favorite customer.”

“Don’t let Joe hear you say that,” Shitty says. Bitty startled, quickly withdrawing his hand. Shitty gives them both a knowing grin. “Well, hello, Bitty and Bitty’s friend.”

“ _Shitty_ ,” Bitty says quickly. “This is Jack Zimmermann. He’s going to be Beth’s doctor.”

Jack extends his hand. “Though I can’t say I’ve even met Beth yet,” he says with a coy look at Bitty. Good lord, the boy is chirping him. He’s all dry humor and secretive smiles and Bitty can’t believe he ever thought this man was dull. “I’m Jack. You’re… Shitty?”

“That’s what my brahs call me,” Shitty agrees. He shakes Jack’s hand vigorously. “Nice to see a new face around here. And may I just say, what a _beaut_ that face is. You, my dear fellow, are welcome in my diner any time you fucking please. I’d say free pie whenever you want too, but you’re a doctor so you’re probably good for it, also we’ll go out of business if I keep letting people have free pies.”

Jack blinks. It’s clear he needs a moment to process all of Shitty. “Um, thanks,” he says finally. “You own the diner?”

“Oh, hell to the fuck no,” Shitty says with a laugh. “Joe’s got that control through and through. I’m just the manager. This place is my adolescent child.”

“Joe knows he acts like this,” Bitty reassures Jack.

“Joe must trust that your pies bring in a lot of revenue,” Jack says dryly. Bitty flushes a bright pink, pleased as punch.

Shitty grins. “Jackabelle here is a funny dude,” he says. “Bits, I approve.”

Bitty sighs, long-suffering. His friends are terrible and not at all discreet. “There is nothing to approve of, Mr. Knight. I believe Ransom and his… Holster are summoning you back to their table. Don’t keep them waiting.”

“Jeez, Itty-Bitty, am I the boss here or are you?” Shitty asks with an overdramatic wink. He swans off and doesn’t look back.

“Approves of what?” Jack asks. There’s a knowing smile on his lips that seems dangerous.

“Ignore every single one of my friends,” Bitty says primly. “They think I need to get out more. Make more friends. They say I’m a hermit and that will just get worse once I have Beth. Clearly you meet Shitty’s standards.”

Jack chuckles. “Well, I like him, too.”

Bitty can’t help but smile at him. “He’s a pretty likeable guy. He’s a whirlwind, though. Hell, the owner of this place, Joe, I can’t believe he lets Shitty get away with half the stuff he does. I mean, the name he goes by is _Shitty_ , and Joe just adores him anyway!”

“There’s certain benefits that come with being charming,” Jack considers. His gaze is soft on Bitty, warm and inviting. Bitty hasn’t been looked at like that in all his life. It’s addictive, almost—it could be, if Bitty allowed it to happen more than once.

He looks away.

  
  
  
  


Jack stays all the way to close.

Bitty’s attempts to subtly tell Shitty to make Jack leave with his eyes go unseen. Instead, Shitty hangs up his apron and shoots a saucy wink to Bitty as he walks out the door. Jack, blessedly, doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does he makes no comment on what Shitty’s insinuating. Bitty locks the doors behind him and turns back to Jack with a reluctant smile.

“Come on,” he says, “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

There isn’t much to Joe’s Diner besides the dining floor and the kitchen, but Jack still trails behind Bitty and listens attentively, like it’s important enough to remember. He hesitates outside the door to the kitchen as Bitty strolls in, looking a little bit like a kid about to explore something they’re not allowed to. Bitty smothers his grin behind his hand and gestures for Jack to follow.

“It ain’t much, but it’s a kitchen with an oven and that’s plenty,” Bitty says. Jack gives him a small grin. “I come in each morning and bake the pies fresh. Most mornings I just stay to help open, since I’m here anyway. Some days I go back home to sleep for a bit before I come in. I start the lunch pies at about nine each morning, dinner pies about two in the afternoon.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Every day?”

“Every day.”

“That’s a lot of work for one person,” Jack comments. He takes another step closer as Bitty turns towards him, and for a moment Bitty is almost pressed entirely against him.

Bitty takes a frantic step back. “Sorry,” he stammers out. Desperate for something to put distance between them, Bitty reaches across the counter to start stacking pie tins. He shoots Jack a small, coy smile. “It can be a lot of work, but I’m the only one who can do it right.”

“What, no sous chef to take under your wing?” Jack asks.

“Shitty can handle pie crusts if it’s just basic, but he lacks the patience needed for fillings. Ransom has early morning med school classes so training him would be a waste of time, and Lardo is great for helping me come up with ideas for new recipes but claims she shouldn’t touch an actual recipe with a ten foot pole.”

Jack laughs. He follows behind Bitty again, examining the pantry where Bitty had meticulously labeled every box. There’s a faint smile on his face as his fingers trace the labels. “You have your work cut out for you here, I suppose. Though you have a chance to impose your wisdom onto your daughter now, right?”

Bitty drops the pie tins.

“ _Crisse,_ are you alright?” Jack asks, bending automatically to help Bitty pick the tins up. Their fingers brush, and Bitty startles back so hard he hits his head on a shelf. “Bitty—”

“I’m fine,” Bitty stammers out. Jack’s words echo in his ear, the reminder of Beth serving as proof that no matter what Bitty wants to happen can’t _happen_ yet, maybe can’t happen ever. Then Jack’s fingers wrap around his wrist and Jack is helping him up and Bitty feels tired, suddenly, of always trying to do the right thing.

He squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t do anything stupid.

“Here, sit down on the counter, let me check you for a concussion,” Jack urges, angling Bitty and leading him backwards.

“I don’t have a concussion from hittin’ my head on a shelf, that’s not the first time that’s happened and it probably won’t be the last,” Bitty insists.

“Why are your eyes closed, does the light hurt?” Jack asks. His free hand comes up to rest on Bitty’s bicep. There’s a lump in Bitty’s throat and concern in Jack’s voice that just makes this harder.

Bitty opens his eyes.

Jack is curved towards him, face bent low and close enough that Bitty would barely need to press on his tiptoes to connect their lips. Jack’s gaze is open and vulnerable, concern etched in his forehead and hiding in the slight downward curve of his mouth. Bitty wants to press his thumb to the edge of Jack’s mouth, just to see if that could get him to smile again. 

“Jack…” Bitty breathes.

Jack brushes his fingers down the side of Bitty’s face. There’s a hitch in his breath then, almost imperceptibly, the slightest tilt of his head as he leans closer.

“This is a bad idea,” Bitty gasps. He puts a hand on Jack’s chest—he intends to do it to stop Jack from moving forward, but the gesture makes this feel even more intimate. Heat pools in his belly. Sharply, he repeats, “This is a _bad_ idea.”

Bitty can feel the deep breath that Jack takes. “I know I should agree with you, but I can’t get you out of my head, Bits.”

But they are still pressed against one another, curving in on each other like magnets, until he’s almost close enough to kiss Bitty. Bitty’s eyes drift closed on their own accord. Jack is a warm embrace, surrounding him. He could spend hours familiarizing himself with the ways Jack’s body presses against his own.

“Am I being completely stupid, wanting this when my entire life is about to change?” Bitty asks desperately, because he’s running out of reasons for why he should keep running away from this. He is frightened that once he has no excuses left, he’ll run straight for Jack’s arms and no one will be there to catch him.

Jack brushes his thumb along Bitty’s jawline. “I think your life would be changing either way, and doing something that you want in the face of all of that is incredibly brave.”

Bitty presses up on his toes and captures Jack’s lips in a kiss. When Jack kisses him back, Bitty doesn’t let himself pull away. Instead he lets himself be tugged up close against Jack’s chest. He lets himself twine fingers into Jack’s hair. He lets a small sigh escape his mouth, and when Jack takes advantage and tentatively runs his tongue along Bitty’s lower lip, he lets Jack do that, too.

Jack’s hands are warm and huge where they are gripping Bitty’s hips. Jack kisses with purpose, and Bitty is reminded of the intense focus that always clouds his expressions. Jack kisses like there’s nowhere else in the world he would rather be.

_Heart stop racing,_ Bitty thinks desperately, and he knows he’s a goner when Jack’s hand trails up Bitty’s side until he can cup Bitty’s face. Their kisses are hot, and Bitty feels so warm in his belly he is sure he will burst, but there is something intimate about this embrace. Something tender. Something he thinks, given time, that might be loving.

That thought alone terrifies him.

“Jack, _Jack_ ,” Bitty gasps. “What are we doing? You’re Beth’s doctor and I—I don’t even have her yet, what are we _doing_?!”

Jack touches his forehead against Bitty’s. He’s out of breath, and his skin is flushed. Warm where he touches Bitty. It’s addicting, the feel of him, the smell of him.

“I can’t get you out of my head,” Jack says again, like it explains everything. And maybe it does, Bitty thinks, because his own mind is a tumultuous mess between thoughts of Beth and pie recipes and his friends and, now, Jack. His eyes close and he shudders, almost imperceptibly. Bitty’s hands tighten in Jack’s hair on their own accord. “I keep seeing you in flashes, no matter what I’m doing. Images of you standing in my office, all righteous indignation and ruffled shirt. Images of you at the bus stop, face tipped up to the sky and eyes closed. I see you with your hands in pie dough, I imagine you with a daughter I haven’t even met yet, I see your smile every time I look at a stranger, I can’t… I _can’t_ get you out of my head.”

“We barely know each other,” Bitty breathes. He tilts his head up, just a bit, until his lips brush against Jack’s again. “We… we just _met,_ I mean, Jack—”

“I know,” Jack whispers. Underneath Bitty’s hands, he can feel it when Jack’s shoulders sag. “ _Tabarnak,_ I know. Bits…”

Bitty presses up once again to capture Jack’s lips in another kiss. For a moment, he doesn’t care if this is the worst idea he’s ever had. He feels higher, higher than he ever has, with Jack’s arms around him like this. His entire life is about to change. There are things that Bitty cannot even comprehend about what his future holds. And for a selfish moment, he desperately wants this to be a part of it.

Jack puts his hands on Bitty’s hips again, maneuvering them until Bitty is captured, pinned against the counter and Jack plastered to his front. There’s desperation, desperation as Bitty cards his fingers through Jack’s hair and pulls him closer. Desperation as he kisses just as thoroughly as he is being kissed. Bitty can’t remember a time that kissing felt like this.

For another selfish moment he allows himself to think that he has never once given himself something he has deserved. He has sacrificed everything worth having in his life, he has given up what he wants so that he can do the right thing, and it has still landed him in a dead-end town with a thankless job and nothing that he can really call his own. It has still landed him alone, his whole family gone now. Perhaps it is time that he allows himself this, allows himself something he shouldn’t have, because soon he’ll have Beth and she’ll be his whole life, and he won’t have time for kissing pretty boys in places they shouldn’t be kissing, and he certainly won’t have time for falling in love.

Maybe he needs a bad idea, because maybe he has spent his entire life overthinking everything. Carefully measuring out each choice to make sure it’s the right amount, the right balance to keep his life firm and steady and consistent. His mama always told anyone that would listen that the best pies are the experiments, and Bitty is so _tired_ of this normal, boring old apple pie life.

Heart pounding, he decides none of it matters. None of it _matters_ as much as the splay of Jack’s fingers against his side, none of it matters as much as Jack’s open-mouthed kisses, none of it matters as much as Jack’s hair between his fingers. No one told him that making mistakes would be this intoxicating.

Jack lifts Bitty up on the counter in one deft movement, not breaking his kiss at all. Bitty allows himself to get lost in the moment for the first time in his life.

* * *

He comes in to work the next morning in a bit of a daze.

Bitty can’t stop thinking about the curve of Jack’s lips pressed against his, the softness of Jack’s hair between his fingers, the bruising way Jack’s hands had splayed against his hips. Bitty traces the same paths on his own body that Jack traced last night and something inside him ignites, muscle memory taking over and turning his whole body hot and cold.

There’s a slight bite in the morning air, enough to put a hustle in his step as he gets off the bus and hurries towards the locked doors of Joe’s, tracing the key with his fingertip. He’s taken back, briefly, to Jack pressing a gentle, easy kiss to his mouth as they stood at the doors saying goodbye to one another. There had been an offer, a car ride, an excuse to skip out on the late night bus ride, but Bitty hadn’t taken it. Perhaps he should have.

“Shit,” he says softly when he misses the lock, fingers trembling as he tries to unlock the door. It takes him another try but then he’s pulling the door open and hurrying inside.

Early hours in the diner used to spook him, when he first took the job here. Now he finds comfort on the monotony, ease in the routine of flipping on lights one by one and turning on the coffee pot for the openers, peace in the silence of the kitchen as he gets started on the morning pies. It’s dreary and boring and reliable but it is familiar.

Not familiar is the sight of Lardo and Shitty, pressed against the shelves in the kitchen.

“Oh my lord!” Bitty gasps out, slapping a hand over his eyes. His back hits the door as he scrambles to move backwards. “Oh my lord. I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything, I’m so sorry! I’ll just—”

“Bits!” Shitty yells, but Bitty’s out of there so fast he barely hears it. Feeling panicky and awkward, Bitty does the only thing he can think of to distract himself—he starts taking chairs off tables. Shitty practically falls out the kitchen door, hair thrown into a hasty bun and shirt slightly rumpled but looking otherwise the same as he always does. Bitty only glances up at him for a second to see if there’s any semblance of shame on his features.

“Coulda sworn it was still my morning to open,” Bitty says nervously, tucking a chair in and wiping a table. “I didn’t. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything, and I certainly didn’t _see_ anything.”

Shitty steps in front of Bitty, “Brah, take a breath for two seconds, please,” Shitty says, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “There was nothing compromising to see, you’re good. We just lost track of time.”

Bitty gives him a withering look.

“Oh, give me a break, Bitty,” Lardo says, as she comes out of the kitchen herself. She ties an apron around her waist and starts taking chairs down herself, too. “You can spare Shits the third degree, it’s not like you didn’t do unspeakable things in this exact kitchen last night.”

Bitty drops the chair he was moving. “Larissa Duan, you _watch_ your mouth,” he says, scandalized.

“Am I wrong?” she asks sharply. Shitty swoops down while Bitty is distracted to pick the chair up himself. “Shitty, why don’t you get started on the pie dough for Bits? Unless you’re doing anything special with the crust today, Bitty?”

“No,” Bitty says weakly. He takes the chair from Shitty and puts it down, tucking it in at the table. Shitty presses a sweet kiss to the top of Lardo’s head as she passes. If Bitty didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Lardo’s cheeks were pink with blush. “Lards…”

“Don’t _Lards_ me, we both know you’re better than that,” she says. She takes a seat at a table and gestures for him to do the same. “Whatever you want to say, whatever judgement you’re holding over my head, just get it out of your system.”

Bitty hesitates before sitting down across from her. “I don’t have any judgement,” he lies.

Lardo raises an eyebrow at him.

Bitty drops his shoulders. “Okay, maybe I have _some_ judgement. I’m sorry. But, Lardo… he’s our _boss._ ”

“And Dr. Jack Zimmermann is going to be your daughter’s pediatrician,” Lardo shoots back. “It seems we both made the mistake of wanting something that we probably should have done without.”

Bitty reaches across the table and takes Lardo’s hand between his. She squeezes back, and Bitty knows that beneath all the blunder and bite that she gives him, it’s her way of looking out for him. He’s happy for her, too, in a way, that she has something that makes her happy. There’s something about this place that makes all of them feel _stuck,_ and he hopes this is what she needs to remind her that she’s allowed to be free.

“Do you love him?” Bitty asks, mouth curving into a teasing grin. Lardo scoffs and pulls her hand back. Bitty just laughs. “If you’re happy… I’m happy. You deserve it, honey, you deserve to be happy.”

Lardo rolls her eyes but there’s a smile on her face that she couldn’t hide even if she tried. “You switched gears there pretty quick.”

Bitty leans back in his chair. “I mean, it makes a certain kind of sense. Shitty has been half gone on you ever since you started working here, so I guess that means it was only a matter of time before anything happened.”

“What?” Lardo blurts out, before remembering herself and sitting back in her chair. She crosses her arms. In a calmer voice, she asks, “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, please, don’t tell me you never noticed that boy tripping all over his own two feet in an effort to get you to notice him!” Bitty says. “He’s got goofy heart-eyes every time he looks at you. It’s a little sweet.”

Lardo’s cheeks turn pink. “He’d be mortified to know that you think he’s been making heart-eyes at me.”

“I don’t think, honey, I know.”

Lardo gives him a small smile. “For what it’s worth, Bits,” she finally says, “you deserve to be happy too. I’m worried you’re setting yourself up for heartbreak with this doctor guy but I also know you have a tendency to turn away from the good things before they even have a chance to hurt you so I hope that your seeing this through means it’s worth it.”

“There’s nothing to _see through,_ we shared a few kisses last night, that’s all,” Bitty insists. “About as much as I saw you and Shitty doing this morning.”

“Oh, _gross,_ Bitty!” Lardo laughs. She swats at him with a rag. “Okay, all this talk about feelings is making me feel icky. Go take over on your pies before Shitty totally ruins them and we have to serve deconstructed crumble pies all day.”

Bitty winks at her as he stands, and after a moment of deliberation, he drops a hand onto her shoulder as he passes her. He squeezes it and says, “At the risk of getting swatted by a rag again, I’m gonna say one more feelings thing then we can be done. I love you, Larissa Duan, and I hope that you keep on being happy.”

She covers his hand with hers and squeezes back. “Yeah, yeah, right back at you and all that.”

* * *

Days pass, as they always do. In most ways Bitty’s life feels exactly the same. He goes to work, he makes his pies, he takes the compliments of those who eat his creations and he deals with the same old shit he sees all too often with customers. There’s a break in the monotony for two things: Beth and Jack.

He finds a one bedroom that is suitable for him and Beth for the time being and still within his price range. Moving is a quiet affair. Shitty closes the diner for a day so the whole staff can help him move, and Bitty is ushered out of the kitchen every time he tries to go in there.

“I can make y’all something to eat, it’s the least I can do with all this help you’re giving me,” he tells them in an exasperated voice. Lardo takes him by the hand and pulls him away again.

He gets a crib for Beth.

Or rather, Ransom surprises him with a crib for Beth. He and Lardo are extra giggly one day, hiding their smiles poorly behind their hands until they finally drag Bitty outside and proudly show him the crib that Ransom had assembled for him, sitting in the back of his truck.

He buys clothes, more than she’ll probably need. Bottles and formula and diapers and things he hadn’t even realized a baby would need like a bouncer and a stroller and tiny baby blankets. Slowly he makes his new apartment a place that is suitable for the both of them.

He counts down the days until she’s dropped off on a calendar that he hangs in their room.

In between it all is Jack. Jack is patient and steady and he comes in nearly every day on his lunch break, despite the fact that the diner is a good ways down the road from the hospital and not an easy break to take. He brushes his hand along Bitty’s arm when Bitty has time to join him for lunch and he gives him secretive smiles when Bitty doesn’t. They share soft kisses in the parking lot and headed kisses in the privacy of the diner’s kitchen after hours and Bitty can’t get enough.

There’s a part of him that’s waiting, unable to help it, for the other shoe to drop. He’s waiting for that swooping feeling to come back in his gut, reminding him that he feels stuck in this town. He’s waiting for someone to come and tell him he won’t actually be taking Beth. He’s waiting for Jack’s ex to show up and beg for Jack back.

He tries not to allow himself to expect such things to happen, but there’s something in him that just won’t allow him to let go.

The shoe does drop, eventually. Though Bitty has to admit it wasn’t in the way he expected.

* * *

Joe’s funeral is a quiet affair, small and unassuming.

Both of his families are in attendance; the family he raised and the family he built out of his diner. Bitty holds onto Chris’s hand throughout it. Lardo and Shitty stand next to them, pressed close together. Ransom grips Chris’s shoulder on the other side.

It’s somber. It seems even the weather in Samwell feels as though something has lost, with the way the clouds flit across the sky, threatening rain but not quite following through. Eventually all the words are said and Chris’s girlfriend comes and takes him in her arms and Bitty to lean on his coworkers for comfort.

“We should name a plate after him,” Bitty says, feeling cold without Chowder by his side. He wraps his arms around himself and stares off into the distance. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for. “At the diner. He… his breakfast. Egg-white omelet, wheat toast, side of fruit. Toast cut diagonally. A heaping serving of butter though he refused to order it out loud. We can call it Joe’s Plate, or… I don’t know. I don’t. He… he should have a plate named after him.”

Lardo links her arm with his and pulls him close. He isn’t much taller than her, but she still presses up on her toes to kiss the side of his head. “It’s gonna be okay, Bitty,” she promises him.

“His ridiculously healthy breakfast,” Bitty says, something similar to a laugh bursting out of his lips. “Had to be wheat toast, had to be egg-whites. Nothing else would do. He was healthy, he… he was _healthy._ ”

Shitty pulls him into a hug. The minute his arms go around Bitty’s middle, he’s no longer able to hold back his tears.

“He was healthy,” he repeats into Shitty’s lapel. His fingers tighten against Shitty’s back.

“It’s okay, bud,” Shitty whispers. “I know. Just let it out.”

Bitty clings on even tighter.

  
  
  


Chris finds him, at the luncheon.

Bitty feels emotionally raw and cried out. He’s certain his face is still red, and he doesn’t even want to know what his hair might look like after being tugged on for three hours straight. Chris sits down next to him on the stairs.

“I need to tell you something,” Chris says.

Bitty stares at his hands. “Do you miss him?” he croaks out. “Chris, I miss him and he wasn’t even my… anything. He was this stern old man who would only allow me to serve him and he was so _picky._ I mean, he always got on me about my pies and he was a gossip and I _miss_ him already, Chris, is that even okay?”

Chris puts a hand on Bitty’s wrist. “Of course it’s okay,” he says firmly. “And of course I miss him. He was your friend, Bitty. He was your something. He was your friend.”

Bitty draws a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Chris promises him. “It’s okay to miss him. I know I do. He was stern and he was kind of crazy and he has been very fussy in the past year but he was still my _yeye._ I’m gonna miss him every day.”

Bitty leans against Chris, resting his head on Chris’s shoulder and taking another deep breath. He squeezes his eyes shut. “Me, too,” he admits. “Let’s cross our fingers that this is my last funeral for the year, okay?”

Chris sucks in a sharp breath. “Shit, Bitty, I didn’t even think about that.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Bitty says tiredly. He pats Chris’s knee. “I can’t do nothing about it anyway. I just hope that I don’t have to do this again any time soon.”

For a moment, they just sit there in silence, comforting one another and watching as the luncheon goes on. There are pictures of Joe up, which doesn’t come as a surprise, but Bitty still enjoys watching people go from picture to picture with small smiles on their faces and stories about Joe on their lips. He’s tired, deep down in his bones, and he thinks that if he were given the chance he could sleep for two years straight.

  
His eyes have just fluttered closed when Chris says, “Bitty, I really need to tell you something.”

He lifts his head, trying to stifle his yawns and doing a poor job at hiding them. Chris looks at him expectantly. “Let’s hear it, then,” Bitty says gently.

Chris bites his lip. “When is Beth coming?”

“Six days on the dot.”

“Okay,” Chris says with a nod. “Okay. Um. I know that you have a lot on your plate, because you just got Beth and you’re gonna be adjusting to being a father and having a baby, and, like, I know you probably already feel overwhelmed, but. Okay, and I know that the last time I said anything about it, Grandpa was pretty adamant against it, but I guess somewhere along the line he changed his mind, which. I mean, it makes a certain sense when you think about it, because who else could do it? But we were going over Grandpa’s will and he must have made changes recently, but he didn’t tell anyone—”

“Chris,” Bitty interrupts. “What’s your point?”

Chris looks Bitty straight in the eye, more serious than he’s ever been as he says, “Grandpa left the diner to your name.”

Bitty’s heart seizes in his chest.

“What?” he chokes out. “He— _what_?”

“Bitty,” Chris says urgently, squeezing Bitty’s hands between his own. “Bitty, he left the diner to you. It’s yours, he wants it to be yours. For whatever you want to do with it. Sell it, rebrand, keep it as is, Bitty, _it’s yours_.”

Bitty opens and closes his mouth a few times, unable to find the words he wants to say. He clings on to Chris’s hands like they’re his lifeline. “But… why?” he asks. “Why me?”

“He trusts you to make the right choice,” Chris says carefully. “Those were his own words. Bitty, he loved you. And he loved your pies. And he believed you were capable of so much more than just being a waiter.”

“I don’t,” Bitty stammers out. “I don’t deserve it, Chris, I… I don’t know what he wants me to do with it, I don’t deserve it—”

Chris squeezes his hands again. “You have time to figure it out.”

Bitty doesn’t protest when Chris tugs him into a hug, and for a moment all that matters is this warm embrace against him. There is something about it that promises hope.

* * *

The day before Beth is supposed to come home, Bitty stands in front of a closed Joe’s Diner staring at it’s doors.

_His_ diner, he supposes. He should probably get used to calling it that.

The diner has been closed since the funeral, and will remain closed until Bitty decides what to do with it. Lardo had gently told him that selling would give him a sustainable amount of cash that would last him and Beth a while. Ransom and Chris have both encouraged him to rebrand and create something that’s fully _his_ from this. Shitty has just offered support and a shoulder to cry on and the constant reminder that “no, Bitty, this has to be your choice. I’m sorry, brah.”

When all is said and done, he knows deep down what he _wants_ to do. He can so clearly envision it, envision the future he wants and what comes with it, and it’s so vivid that it should frighten him. He sees his name on the door and on the menus and on the sign off the highway, he sees his pies in every display, he sees warm interiors and he can smell the fresh pies and he can see Beth growing older, her own hands pressed in pie dough looking up at Bitty the same way Bitty had looked up at his mama. He sees a future he is almost too afraid to want.

He isn’t surprised when Jack walks up, stopping next to him. They’re close enough that their arms brush. “Are you okay?” Jack asks softly.

Bitty closes his eyes. In everything he can envision, perhaps what scares him most of all is that he can see Jack there, too.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” he admits. “Joe always told me to get the hell out of this town, then he goes and leaves me this diner? Chris said that Joe said he knew I’d make the right choice. I keep thinking that Joe _has_ to think the right choice is hopping on the next bus out of town with Beth on my hip. I mean… he told me _so_ many times that I shouldn’t be a waiter all my life.”

Jack takes a deep breath. “He gave you a chance here to _be_ more than a waiter all your life,” he says. “He gave you a chance to build your own empire. Maybe that’s what he wanted all along.”

“Jack Zimmermann, you watch your tongue or I’m gonna go off and get my hopes up about what I could turn this place into,” Bitty whispers. “I know you never met Joe, but lord knows he was a complex man. Couldn’t make anything easy. He’s still throwing curve balls my way even after he’s gone.”

“I think you should allow yourself some hope, Bittle,” Jack says. “You’d be surprised to find that it’s almost worth it.”

Bitty closes his eyes. He allows himself to live in the fantasy again: the pie shop, Jack, and the chance at a perfect family. Everyone he loves gathered at the tables every Sunday for dinner. Something warm and balanced and consistent, a life as smooth as butter that just melts on the tongue. Everything he’s ever wanted coming his way all at once.

“Make a pie with me,” Bitty whispers, and he takes Jack’s hand in his and tugs him inside.

  
  
  


Jack’s hands move around the pie dough the same way his mama’s used to. He is gentle in a way Bitty has never seen before. He and Jack have done things that will never cease to turn Bitty’s ears red when he thinks about them, and still this feels more intimate than any of them combined.

“You can add a bit more pressure,” Bitty says softly. He covers Jack’s hands with his own and presses down to show him. “You don’t want to overwork it, but it needs a firm hand to stick together in the first place. A good pie has to have a solid, reliable crust. So you must have solid, reliable hands. Let the dough learn from you.”

While Jack works the dough, Bitty pulls down a bowl from the shelves and sets the work peeling apples. There’s an intimacy that comes with sharing his kitchen, and part of him is on fire just knowing that Jack is in this proximity. He has to remind himself multiple times not to get caught up in staring at Jack while he works.

“You can roll it out now,” Bitty says softly. He has to look away when Jack catches his gaze.

Bitty is familiar to loud hustle and bustle in his kitchen while he works. Normally, the only quiet he finds is in the early morning when it’s just him and his mama’s recipes echoing around in his head. It’s strange, he thinks, to share a kitchen with someone and still feel that same quiet calm. There is something deep within him that trusts Jack almost impossibly not to break the peace.

He finishes peeling apples by the time Jack has rolled out the crust, perfectly thin and even. Jack looks up at him, eyes alit, and says, “What next?”

“Now we put it in the pie dish,” Bitty says. He takes the dough from Jack and places it carefully in the tin, an action that comes to him as easy as breathing now. Jack presses against him from behind as Bitty crimps the edges.

Jack presses a faint kiss along Bitty’s jawline.

Bitty turns away, rolling the excess pie dough between his fingers. He means to put some space between him and Jack but stops in his tracks when Jack catches him by the wrist. He turns, guiltily, to face Jack again, and feels impossibly sad looking into Jack’s eyes. 

“Please don’t pull away from me,” Jack murmurs. His flour-coated finger brushes gently against Bitty’s cheek.

Bitty leans into Jack and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, calm, steadying. “I’m right here,” Bitty promises him.

Jack takes the dough and moves it away from them both. His hand falls to Bitty’s hip, pulling him closer. He tucks his nose into the crook of Bitty’s neck. “Beth comes tomorrow,” Jack states, and he holds on when Bitty clings to him tighter. “Bits…”

“I’m afraid you won’t want to see me anymore once I have a daughter and a pie shop taking up all my attention,” Bitty admits, breath coming out in one rush and nearly blurring all his words together. 

Jack laughs breathlessly against his neck. “I’m afraid you won’t want to see me anymore once you have your daughter taking up all your attention,” Jack confesses. “And I’m afraid that once you live your pie shop dream you’ll find that I don’t fit into it.”

“Are we crazy?” Bitty asks. “We’ve known each other for barely a month, Jack. Is it entirely possible that we’ve both lost our minds?”

“I know I can’t think straight around you,” Jack whispers. Bitty lifts Jack’s head so he can press a gentle kiss to his lips. “Maman always said I’d never learn how to do things halfway. For me it would always be all or nothing.”

Bitty rests his forehead against Jack’s chest. “I can’t make promises,” he murmurs. His fingers tighten, gripping Jack’s shirt. “I want to promise you that I’ll still want to see you but it’s not just my life, Jack, it’s Beth’s too and I have to know what she needs before I know what I need. I know that right now in this instance I never want to lose this.”

“I’ll stay here as long as you let me,” Jack promises. “Simple and plain.”

Jack wraps his arms around him again and holds him close, and Bitty clings to him and tries not to let himself get addicted to the way that Jack makes him feel. He used to dream about this, when he was younger before the weight of the world settled on his shoulders. He used to dream about being held by someone who thought he mattered. No heat of the moment, no passionate kisses, no pulling away. Just someone’s arms wrapped around him tight, unwilling to let go.

Bitty closes his eyes. He’s not willing to let go, either.

* * *

Beth is the most perfect baby he’s ever seen.

He’s met her before, of course. He held her when she was a newborn and most recently saw her when she was just three months old. She is five months now, bigger than he could have even imagined possible, and she’s perfect. Bitty smooths back the cowlick on the back of her head and lets out a watery laugh when her eyes open curiously.

“Hi, Beth,” he whispers. She fits perfectly into his arms. Her chubby little fingers wrap tightly around his thumb. “Hi, sugar. D’you remember me? I’m gonna be your daddy, sweet little girl. Welcome home.”

The social worker pokes around and the lawyer hands him one last paper to sign and Bitty can barely look away from Beth’s face. She falls back asleep relatively quickly, settling into his arms like she has been there all her life. Bitty traces her faint freckles with his fingertip and tracks every flutter of her eyelashes and he wonders how it was possible that he existed so long without her in his life.

In an instant he feels like he was made for this. Every path he chose, every mistake he made, every loss he endured, it was to get to this point. With this perfect girl in his arms. He wonders how he could have held her in his arms before and not realized how important she was. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to let her go again.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says again, and he knows that he’ll have all his life to do right by her.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_one year later_

“Lards, can you _please_ take Bethy down off the counter? We’ll be serving food there in just a minute.”

Beth’s delighted laugh rings through the entire cafe as Lardo scoops her up and tosses her in the air. Bitty pauses from where he’d been plating another pie, stopping to take in the scene and smile gently to himself. When Beth catches sight of him, she waves one chubby little hand and lets out a string of incohesive babbling.

“That’s right, sugar, it’s opening day,” Bitty agrees. He finishes with his final plate then goes to take Beth into his own arms. She comes easily and presses a sloppy kiss to his cheek. “Why, thank you, little miss. Are you excited for opening day?”

“She’s excited for all the pie we’re about to sneak her,” Ransom says, stepping down off the chair he’d been using to straighten a light on the ceiling. He ignores the warning look Bitty shoots his way. “She has no idea that her daddy just remodeled and rebranded an entire diner. No, she does not! She has no clue! But she’s proud of him anyway!”

Bitty lets Ransom take her, smiling when Beth giggles again, then he goes to straighten menus he’s already straightened six times. “Has anyone seen Shitty?”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Shitty yells, coming in from the back door and making one hell of a noise as he trips into the dining floor. “Sorry, fucking Christ _god,_ I’m sorry, I just had to get this before I could come in.”

In his hands is a glass pie dish. He hands it to Bitty almost shyly, but everyone in the room is grinning from ear to ear as he takes it. “I’m guessing you were all in on this little scheme,” he says.

“Obviously,” Lardo says with a nod.

“What? No,” Ransom lies, and he covers his face to hide his grin.

“Don’t let these chucklefucks take the credit for my idea, please!” Shitty says loudly. “Besides, this isn't even for _you._ Read the inscription.”

Bitty looks down.

“For Beth,” he chokes out. His eyes start to swim. “Don’t ever forget the lessons you put in this pie dish.”

“We figure you have to start teaching her eventually,” Lardo says.

Bitty yanks them all in a hug. “Thank you,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “She can’t touch this for at least three more years, but thank you all so much.”

Beth makes a noise of protest at being squished in the middle of the hug, and Bitty laughs and takes her with one arm as everyone disperses. He shows her the pie dish carefully. “Look, Bethy, they got you a present.”

“I kind of got you a present, too,” Shitty admits. Bitty looks up at him. “Don’t look so afraid, I promise this is a present you want. Fuck, we’re about to open, guys, is everything ready? Bits, does anything else need to be done?”

“I think we’re ready,” Bitty says, looking between everyone. “Bethy, are we ready?”

“Yes!” she says loudly. Her favorite word. Bitty grins and turns back to Shitty. 

“You heard the little lady,” he says. “Rans, get the doors.”

Shitty holds up both of his hands. “Wait, wait!” he yells. “Let me give you your gift first. It’ll take two seconds then we can open the doors, I promise!”

“ _Go,_ Shitty!” Bitty insists, laughing.

Shitty pulls Jack out of the kitchen.

Bitty’s entire world stops spinning for a moment.

It’s been… God, at least a few months since he’s last seen Jack. All of his focus was poured into the remodel and raising Beth and Jack had been sidelined for it. They had both anticipated it, though neither of them were happy to see it come to pass. Bitty knew he needed to put his attention elsewhere and Jack was willing to let him go.

Then again, Jack had promised that he would be around for as long as Bitty would let him. Bitty knows that his feelings are still there. And by the way that Jack is looking at him now, Bitty is almost certain that the feelings are still reciprocated. Maybe there is a way, after all, for him to have the pie shop and Jack and the happy family. He’s willing to find out, now, either way.

"Hi, Bits," Jack says shyly. He looks beautiful and perfect, and Bitty can't wait to kiss him again.

He smiles, feeling happy and full. “Hi, Jack.”

**Author's Note:**

> comment, kudos, bookmark below<3
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](https://tonytangredis.tumblr.com/).


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